Happy?

“Am I happy? You mean 'happy,' like puppy-dog 'happy'? What is happy, Charlie, walking around with a hard-on and a goofy smile on your face?”

I said, “You know what, Pop? Maybe, that's exactly what it is.”

That was thirty years ago. We were standing here.

I look behind me.

The gathering in the brightly lit up white and blue trimmed beach house is politely hushed but I can hear the conversational voices, the murmur, the fluttering of soulful dialogue of family and friends.

A house packed with memories and golf trophies. I had to get out of there. I stand here now with the memories. Good memories, yes, most were, but were they happy?

“What the fuck is happy, Charlie?” He had been on his second double Johnnie Walker.

I wanted to tell him what happy was. I was sixteen years old and knew in my heart exactly what it was.

Thirty years later, and here we all are. “Hey'a Pops!” The dock rocks gently, or the scotch does. I feel good, though far from happy.

I'm acting like an ass.

The man could hit the heart out of a golf-ball. He must have been happy about that.

-299 Words-
Flash Fiction using the words-- Heart, Double, Trophy
by Tyler Gregory